Strictly Business
by sonsofmogh
Summary: Hannah Abbott was up to her eyeballs in a business she scarcely knew how to run. Out of money and sleep deprived, all she could do was grind out day after day, but she couldn't last forever that way. And then Neville walked into her pub and into her life. Things might've started looking up, after all.


With an exhausted sigh, Hannah blew a stray lock of hair from her face as she ploughed through the fifth of endless batches of bread in her near future. The next day was the first of August, which was the busiest business day of the year at the Leaky Cauldron because of its proximity to Hogwarts letters being sent out. Since it would've been unfeasible to try to bake enough bread for the day in the morning, she was putting in the extra hours the night before so she could worry about food prep in the morning.

It was nights like this one that made Hannah wonder what sort of insanity had prompted her to spend every last Knut of her inheritance on this pub, when more often than not she barely made enough to keep the place running and in good repair. Case in point of this was the fact that, had she been able to afford to have one of her staff stay over a few hours, she probably would've been done with all of this already.

Instead, though, she had Old Tom at the bar, which was far too busy for one person to handle alone, whilst she baked twice her own weight in loaves of bread. And since she hadn't quite perfected the charm to make the dough rise just right with the charmed yeast, she had to make do with letting it rise on its own, which took nearly an hour per batch. That meant that every time she finished mixing a batch, a previous batch had to be formed into loaves, all while she desperately tried to remember to pull out the bread already in the ovens before it overcooked.

After what seemed like hours, Hannah's eyes drifted toward the clock. Half past ten. She'd been at it for over five hours, and she was hardly over two-thirds the way done. The mere thought of it made her stomach churn in a most unpleasant way, especially the knowledge that she had to be back by eight in the morning, if not earlier, to make sure she had enough of everything in stock for the busy day.

The cooking timer sounded, which signalled that her third to last batch was done baking. With a flick of her wand, she opened the oven door and Levitated the pans one by one to the counter to cool. But as the last of them landed and the new batch made its way in, Hannah's eyes strayed down to her hands.

Her nails used to be meticulously cared for and at least adorned by a bit of varnish, but since she'd started working in the kitchen, they'd become plain and nearly all broken. The skin on the pads of her fingers was wrinkled from repeated hand washing, and every tiny crevice was caked with flour and bits of dough.

When had she become so disgusting? That's what she was — in her own opinion, at any rate. She was wearing her hair in an unflattering pony tail, which was bound up in a hair net, and her work uniform was a dull, uninspired grey, which she chose because it looked less dirty if she got something on herself while she was working.

She dared to catch a look at her reflection in the mirror above the hand-washing sink and hardly recognised herself. There were angry smears of purple under her eyes, which told quite a tale of how often she slept well, and the hair that managed to escape her utilitarian coif was welded to her face by sweat, and there were damp patches under her arms and her breasts where she'd perspired in the sauna-like heat of the kitchen. All of this made her wonder how she could possibly have been twenty-two and not forty. She _literally_ looked twice her age.

The very thought that her life at the Cauldron had only just begun made her forget about the great troughs of dough waiting to be kneaded in favour of sitting on the floor to cry. She felt so trapped, stuck in this crumb-encrusted hellhole, and it was all her own fault.

Everything she had was invested in her business, and her father didn't have the extra cash to help her out, so she had to cut any corners she could, starting with her personal comfort. She'd given up her little flat over a year ago in order to move into the 'emergency' room — the room too small and dilapidated to rent out unless all the other ones were full — which freed up fifty Galleons per month to repair and replace whatever needed it. She only had three employees: Tom, Other Tom, and Maud; that left her to pick up the slack, often causing her to wake up, start working, keep going all day, pass out in exhaustion afterward, and repeat.

Yet there she was, with wrinkly hands, sweaty armpits, and disgusting, flour-caked hair, crying on the floor of the one place she could never escape. And she was sure her nostrils detected the smell of bread that had been cooked far too long, but at the moment, she couldn't be bothered to get up and pull out the loaves. All she could focus on was her lack of will to leave that very spot. Plus, when she didn't move, her body cooled down to a more hospitable temperature.

Hannah hadn't realised that she'd fallen asleep until a shout and the smell of smoke assailed her senses all at once. Sitting bolt upright, she squeaked in horror to see angry, grey billows wafting from the ovens and someone trying to brave the ashen cloud to remove the burnt bread. In no time, both of them were coughing up a storm. Grabbing a spare baking sheet of the counter, Hannah waved it at the smoke to make it waft in a different direction.

"_Ventus!_" a voice cried amidst the haze, and Hannah was surprised to find that it wasn't Tom's.

When the Wind Charm cleared the smoke out the window, she hadn't expected to see Neville Longbottom standing there, his face slightly sooty and his face perspiring heavily. "What are you doing here?"

Mopping his brow with his sleeve, Neville said, "Professor Sprout gave me the night off to knock around a bit before school, so I stopped in for a sandwich and a cup of tea before heading back. I'd just ordered when I noticed the smoke." He offered her a hand to regain her feet. When they were toe to toe, he said, "All right, then?"

Nodding numbly, Hannah leant against the counter and closed her eyes, not entirely sure her knees were going to support her much longer. Neville must have noticed her distress. She felt the back of his hand gently lift her chin, and his thumb brushed her cheek. "When's the last time you've had a full night's sleep?"

"I, um… " Hannah scoured her brain to remember the last time she'd got the chance to forget about the Cauldron for eight straight hours, and it didn't surprise her that she couldn't think of one. "It's been a while, I s'pose."

With a sigh, Neville called over his shoulder, "Farkle!" Before Hannah could even postulate as to what that meant, a house elf appeared, wearing a Hogwarts tea towel.

"How can Farkle help Master Neville?" The elf adoringly gazed up at him, looking ready to do any manner of task charged to him.

Still absently stroking her cheek, Neville said, "If you could finish up Miss Abbott's baking for her and clean up for the night, I promise that there will be a case of Butterbeer in the kitchens tomorrow."

His excitement rather disproportionate to the prize being offered, Farkle darted off to mix the next batch of dough. That left Hannah blinking up at Neville, who was still subconsciously caressing her face. Not bothered by it at all, she whispered, "Thank you."

At that moment, Neville must have realised the impropriety of his hands' attentions and dropped them at his sides. "Hannah…"

The sheer amount of worry in his voice as he said her name was her undoing. Though she tried to stop herself, Hannah's face crumpled, bringing a fit of sobs mixed in with coughing from the smoke inhalation. Neville pulled her to his chest, and she unloaded the power of nearly two years' frustration into his shirt. She felt like a child again, crying all over her father for a skinned knee, but she couldn't help it anymore.

And she couldn't do this anymore, either. When she finally regained a modicum of her composure, Hannah wiped the tears away with her palms and said, "I need to sell this place before it kills me."

Neville frowned. "Do you _want_ to sell it?"

Shaking her head, Hannah said, "No, but I can't keep this up, and I haven't made more than enough to live on since I bought the place, let alone enough to get my investment back."

"Then sell it half of it to me."

If she'd been expecting him to say something, it certainly hadn't been that. "Wh-what?"

"Sell half the business to me." He gave her a crooked smile. "I've got plenty of money for it and not much else to use it for. My biggest life expenses are smuggling Butterbeer into Gryffindor Tower after a Quidditch win. And if you could be so kind as to never tell Professor McGonagall I do that, it would be much appreciated."

Hannah managed a weak laugh, not sure how else to respond. What she wanted more than anything was to take his offer and sleep like a sane person, but it felt like he was doing it out of pity and not out of genuine interest. Taking his money would've felt wrong and terrible. Backing away from him, she said, "I can't do that, Neville. I can't take your money just because you feel bad for me. It's not right."

"That isn't what this is, Hannah. I —" When she tried to turn away from him, he drew her back to him before she could get more than a few feet away. "It's an opportunity to spend a few Galleons I will probably never use, and if it helps out a friend, then so much the better."

She opened her mouth to refute, but no words came out. Neville must have taken it as a sign of triumph; he clapped her shoulder and smiled again. "There we have it, partner." He extended a hand for her to shake, but instead of that, he gave hers a reassuring squeeze. "Keep Farkle here until tomorrow night. Just let him know what you need him to do."

"But… but won't he be needed for the welcoming feast?"

"Farkle is my family's house elf. I hired a few more elves to replace him, to, you know, look after Gran. I just liked how well he could care for plants."

"Oh," she said, annoyed at how insipid she sounded, but she was tired and flooded with relief. "Th-thank you." When his lips quirked up this time, Hannah felt a strange flutter in her stomach, which she attributed to not having eaten since lunch.

"My pleasure," he assured. "And I'll have the funds transferred to your vault in the morning. Is a thousand Galleons fair?"

That was almost more than she'd paid for the place! She opened her mouth to refuse his overly generous offer, but Neville pre-empted her rebuttal by planting a light kiss on her forehead. "Next Hogsmeade weekend, I'll stop in and see how you're doing." With that, he backed away and gave her an awkward little wave, only to run into a prep counter and nearly fall over. Hannah couldn't help but chuckle.

Though it was probably wrong on many levels to accept his help, she had a feeling that she would be very glad indeed that she had.

Pacing didn't accomplish anything — and Hannah knew it — but it was hard not to as she waited for Neville to come. As soon as he'd got to Hogwarts, he sent her a copy of the Hogsmeade schedule, and only minutes after that, a receipt for the deposit that he'd made into her vault arrived. Within the hour, she had a 'Help Wanted' sign in her window and three new employees that very morning.

Things had been good from there. With faster service, more and more people frequented the Leaky Cauldron where they might have only visited occasionally before. And in under a week, Hannah took her first day off in months. She'd almost forgotten what a full night's sleep felt like, and had definitely hadn't sat in her room and read a book for even longer than that. Later in the afternoon, she even got a chance to wander down the street to pay a visit to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, the inside of which she hadn't seen since she was sixteen.

It had shocked her how much George knew about running a business. What had started as a question about employee motivation had spiralled into a full blown discussion about everything from bookkeeping to how to get the best deal on wholesale supplies. He had even given her a list of contacts who could get her basic ingredients for half of what she was paying at the time.

Heartened by her successful outing, Hannah paid visits to other neighbouring businesses, even forging a trade with Quality Quidditch Supplies for free meal coupons to give out with broom purchases in exchange for tiny Quidditch player figurines to give to her patrons' kids. With Eeylop's Owl Emporium, she swapped free lunches for their employees in exchange for owl treats for guests' owls.

And just the day before Neville was to arrive, Hannah was finally able to give Old Tom a raise and a promotion to manager, which allowed him to help with hiring decisions and to take over day-to-day operations so she could focus on the business side of things and even set up some sort of advertising. She even had a few ideas kicking around in her head that she wanted to share with Neville, but what she especially wanted was to show him the ledgers and their ever-growing positive balance.

When he walked through the door, Hannah felt her stomach clench in anticipation. She had no idea why she was this nervous, since there was nothing but good news to report, but her insides were churning like mad. It didn't help things when he slowly walked around the dining room, inspecting the furniture, walls, windows, and even the floor; not until he stopped in front of her did he break out in a grin and envelop her into a bear hug.

"This place looks fantastic!" he said, giving her a quick peck on the cheek. "The paint is new, the floorboards look almost sanded to a shine, and you…" Neville looked her top to bottom even more closely than he had the fixtures in the room. "You look like a brand new person!"

Hannah was surprised that he'd noticed such minor improvements that she'd made; she'd assumed that he would want to know more about the books and the numbers, considering the size of his investment. Too startled to speak clearly, she said, "I, um, got some, er, stuff done." Silently, she cursed herself. All morning, she'd practised giving a speech, detailing her operational changes and, more importantly, how she'd spent the money he'd given her. Instead, she 'got some stuff done'.

Thankfully, Neville was far too excited to see everything to notice her poor communication. "So, who's in the kitchen now?"

"We've got three new people since you were here last, and I'm looking to hire a couple more by next week. Two of them, Lindsay and Beth, work in the kitchens full time and _really_ know how to cook." Gesturing toward the barman, Hannah added, "And that's Casey. He's going to be moving into Old Tom's position." When Neville gave her a funny look, she grinned and explained, "I made Old Tom the manager."

"You did all of this with a thousand Galleons?"

Flushing, Hannah said, "Well, George helped me out with some suppliers, and I've been trading meals for goods and services like mad, but…" Her lips twitched. "I've actually still got two hundred left. I… I want to buy new uniforms, if th-that's okay." It seemed like such a frivolous thing to want, but if she had to set eyes on those naff old grey uniforms for much longer, it would make her head explode.

He sighed as if in relief. "Oh, thank Merlin! I didn't want to say anything, but those things are dire." She nearly flinched when he reached out a hand and traced his finger down her thick plait. "Blue would look nice on you."

Her face was turning red as a radish, and she knew it. "I, um… blue it is, then. I like blue."

"I like blue, too," he said absently before noticing that his fingers were still dragging their way down her braid. "Oh!" Jerking them away, he winced and said, "That was completely inappropriate."

Managing a soft chuckle, Hannah said, "Yeah, a little."

Neville cleared his throat and choked, "Well, um… right then." Gesturing toward the back, he said, "Let's have a look, then."

"Yes!" Hannah squeaked, happy to end the awkward turn in their conversation. "Back in the office, I'll show you a couple mock-ups for an advert or two that I had done just the other day."

As he followed her, Hannah couldn't help but feel that things were looking up, and in no time, he'd have his thousand back. Perhaps by that point, she might even be brave enough to look him in the eye without turning bright scarlet. But she'd settle on repayment.

Hannah hadn't even looked forward to Hogsmeade weekends this much when she was in school. Each time Neville came for a visit, there was something new that she wanted desperately to share with him. First it was wonderful, food-service specific uniforms, which were a shade of cobalt that had always been her favourite. Next it was equipment so she could manufacture her own brand of ale. And after that came new furniture, renovated guest rooms, and even a proposal to purchase the Hog's Head from Aberforth Dumbledore and rename it 'D.A. Place'.

Every time she presented these to Neville, he was as enthused by it as she was. However, every improvement that she implemented meant a further delay of his repayment, which bothered Hannah greatly. But no more — not after that day. In her office sat a voucher, good for exactly one-thousand Galleons, and it was the day that she was finally able to give it to him. And with that sat a contract, which stated that, after repayment of said one-thousand Galleons, he would therefore be entitled to fifty per-cent of the gross earnings of the pub. Though it had taken nearly nine months to do it, she was, at last, going to give Neville his due for saving her and her business.

As he walked in this time, Neville didn't do as he normally did and wander about the place and admire the scenery. His expression was unusually grim, and the first place that Hannah's mind went was that he was dissatisfied with her work. When he approached, she stuttered, "I, um, h-have a couple things f-for you in the off —" The rest of her sentence was cut off when he crushed her into his chest, arms belted around her like twin vices.

Once he released her, Neville said, "Professor Sprout's retiring after this year, and Professor McGonagall has asked me to before the new Herbology professor."

Grinning genuinely, Hannah said, "That's fantastic! You'll be brilliant."

"Well, that's not — I mean, I know that, but…" Sighing heavily, he said, "I won't get to leave at Hogsmeade weekends anymore. New teachers are always on chaperon duty at weekends, and… and I'm going to miss you."

Any joy she had found in his news skidded to a halt inside Hannah. As much as she had wanted to settle her debt to Neville, not once had the idea occurred to her of what she would do if he didn't visit anymore. It had become such a rudimentary part of her day, planning new things that she could unveil for him the next time he returned, from trying to predict his reaction to what would make him feel like he'd got the most out of his money. Of course, the day would've come that she couldn't find anything else to revamp, but somehow, she'd thought she would have a bit more time than this. "I…" she started lamely before biting her bottom lip and looking down at the floor. It was all she could do to keep a couple stray tears from slipping down her face.

Without another word, she led him to the office to give him his return investment. When the door shut behind her, she almost jumped out of her skin, but when she sent a look toward Neville, his expression was nearly as pained as hers. "I, um, have your thousand," she whispered, handing him the stack of parchment. "And a profit contract."

Neville stared down at the papers in his hands intently, perusing them until he tossed them carelessly back on the desk "Hannah, I —"

"Is it not enough?" she pled, hoping that he wasn't cross with her, since he did save her business. She had no idea what a fair offer would've been, but half sounded like the right amount. "I can give you sixty or seventy if you prefer, or maybe —"

Whatever was about to come out of her mouth was pre-empted by his mouth crushing hers. It was completely beyond anything she'd experienced during her first kiss, which had been a sloppy, wet snog with Wayne Hopkins in a darkened hallway. Neville's was confident and insistent, but not pushy. Again, unlike the other, Hannah wanted more of this kiss.

But as soon as it had started, it was over. Neville stumbled backwards, leaving Hannah reeling and desperately hoping that she could stand up straight. Oddly breathless, she leant against her desk and watched Neville intently, wanting to know both what prompted him to kiss her and why he had stopped.

"I… I'm sorry!" he said hurriedly. "I shouldn't have done that. It probably made you uncomfortable and —"

"Shut up," she said with a grin. When his brows knit in confusion, she pulled her wand from her pocket, flicked it at the door, and said, "_Colloportus_."

"The door was already closed."

"And now it's sealed."

"What for?"

"What do _you_ think?" Without another word, Hannah grabbed Neville's collar and pulled him sharply to her. She felt him growl in approval as she had a go at being in control. It didn't matter that she'd never even considered the idea of the two of them together even an hour before, at that moment, she felt so wrapped up in him that she didn't want to let go.

Again, it was Neville who severed the contact. "We can't do this. I'd hardly get to see you, and it would drive me mad if all we had would be summer holidays."

Hannah's lips quirked. "Then I suppose I should go ahead with the Hogsmeade project, shouldn't I?"

"You mean —"

"Oh, yes," she whispered in his ear, relishing the shiver of delight it garnered. "I believe our partnership should _definitely_ be extended."


End file.
